Who Is The True Chosen One?
by Loki du Monte
Summary: It's an ongoing battle to decide the true Chosen One. Love abounds like rabbits.
1. Stage Whispers

Neo steps out onto the stage of a school auditorium. What school this is we do not know. His house is by the river though. No wait, never mind. Anyway, Neo of...the _Matrix_ steps out onto the stage. He is wearing his customary all-black ensemble, though it impossible to say what designer made it, as there are no tags poking out and around. However, we can assume that Neo is a badass, because he is wearing his sunglasses. These he flings into the audience of screaming women and homosexual men, and proceeds to say something...

"I" he strikes a pose "am" strikes another pose "the CHOSEN ONE!" strikes his last pose to tumultous applause and several lace panties flying around. He holds up his hands to acknowledge the applause, or maybe just to catch the panties, but suddenly!

"OH NO YOU DI'IN'T!"

Anakin Skywalker nances out from backstage, swinging his trusty lightsaber, which just so happens to be glowing red with righteous Darksidedness. He's got that sexy look on his face that clearly says, "I'm'a kick your ass, bitch!" Which is in fact what he says next as he engages Neo in a purring war. Ani succeeds at purring the loudest, and so makes his statement:

"Don't believe this hack! I, Anakin Purrwalker, uh _Skywalker_, am the CHOSEN ONE!"

The audience gasps, then several lace panties and equally lacy bras fly up and hit Ani in the face, as fangirls(and boys) scream their love, unless it's actually lust. Anakin smiles big, though falters slightly when dozens of chocolate chip cookies start hitting him. Then he goes into a feeding frenzy and starts eating them Cookie Monster-style, combined with the Force, which he uses to zoom them up to his mouth, though he does bend over a few times, just to give the audience a treat.

Just then, darling Anakin is ka-whacked from behind by none other than...um...Neo! Yeah, Neo! Only, everybody sort've forgot about him. Righto, so Neo ownz'd Ani's ass, which doesn't really help that much, 'cause when you piss off Anakin Skywalker, he goes all Choke Force on your ass. Which is what he does to Neo. But since Neo is right there, Anakin is in kicking distance, so Matrix Man kicks him where it hurts. Poor Ani is forced(hee hee, Forced!) to drop him, as he falls to the ground, twitching and whimpering with pain. Meanwhile, the audience is not sure who to cheer for, and so is confused, especially since some of them are wondering whether or not they should be getting their underwear back at some point, since they kinda need it.

Anakin uses the Force to suck it up and deal with his immense pain, and so is able to get up. In doing so, he "forces"(hee hee) his lightsaber to fly over to him, knocking into Neo's head as it goes. Ani neatly catches his trusty weapon, and strikes a sexeh pose, as he turns it on. Neo strikes his own pose, as he gets ready to kick some serious ass with his supah kung fu skeelz.

"I AM THE CHOSEN ONE, AND I WILL MAKE YOU ADMIT IT BEFORE I KICK YOUR ASS INTO THE NEXT GALAXY!" Anakin squeals.

"HELL NO, BITCH! IT IS I WHO WILL KICK _YOUR_ ASS, WITH DA POWA OF DE MATRIX! YOU GOIN' DOWN!" Neo squeals back.

"_EXPELLIARMUS!_" squeaks a cracking voice of someone not a boy, but not yet a man.

Ani's beloved lightsaber, Duchess, is expelled from his pretty hands, and hits the stage, where, still turned on, it proceeds to melt through the wood, and finally falls down below, into the dark, murky, and most likely haunted depths of...er...well, the space below the stage.

"NNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!111111111" Ani screams. "DUCHESS, MY DARLING, NNOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!111"

Neo, being without a weapon to be disarmed, save for the several dozens of firearms he had tucked away for safekeeping in his clothing, is relatively unharmed, though his clothing is ripped rather erotically in all manner of places, causing some people in the audience to pass out and even die of sheer joy. However, he is very pissed, because this was his favorite outfit, though the designer is still unknown. He glares in a sexy way at the young man before him.

This young man has unusually tidy hair, and blue eyes, so at first the audience is confused. Who the hell is this whelp, and why did he stop the brawl? The young man looks around, realizes why nobody is cheering, and yells in his pubescent voice.

"COME ON! IT'S **ME**, _HARRY POTTER_!"

The audience is skeptical, so Harry, in an act of true desperation, sighs irritably, rolls his eyes, and lifts up his bangs, to reveal...a scar! shaped like...a chicken wing?

"No! It's a lightening bolt!" someone close to the stage screeches. With this statement, everyone freaks out, fearing that the lightening bolt means that a messenger of Zeus has come from on high to bring out a Can O' Holy Whoop-Ass. Everybody starts screaming, some even falling on their knees to beg forgiveness.

Harry is sincerely hurt by this extreme lack of recognition, and breaks down crying.

"I-I w-w-was sup-p-posed to b-be the Chosen One!" he sobs, snorting and wiping his profusely runny nose on his black velvet robes.

At this, the audience goes dead silent. Another Chosen One? Will this be the end?

Anakin, having slightly recovered from the loss of his beloved Duchess, gets up from his grief(and the floor), and turns to where Harry is, his cool Jedi robe swishing, his black leathah squeaking suggestively. Likewise, Neo turns to the boy as well, his ripped, shredded clothes swirling around his muscular body, a new pair of shades covering his eyes, for what purpose, we can only guess at.

Harry looks up, suddenly aware that nothing is as it seems. Or at least that everyone has stopped screaming. He looks toward Neo, advancing on him, then his head swivels over in Anakin's direction. The lad gulps, visibly. He was about to get his ass kicked by two of the most sexiest men he had ever seen. Perhaps he should have waited until they killed each other before announcing himself as the Chosen One.

"Stupid stupid stupid!" he berates himself, though perhaps a little too loudly...

"What'd you say to me, bitch?" Ani growls, all the purr gone.

"You callin' me stupid?" Neo demands.

Harry is suddenly overcome by his desire to love, and when the two older men get close enough, he bounces up and squeezes both of them tight, attempting to overcome them with his love.

However, this was even more stupid, and Harry's ass gets kicked. Big time.

Ani and Neo began kicking and poking Harry, who has fallen once again to the ground, only this time in a fetal position, as he tries to keep his glasses from getting smushed. Suddenly, he remembers that he is a wizard, has a wand, and knows how to use magic. So he hexes his assailants. Anakin ends up with stinging welts all over his neck which he will have to explain to Padme later on, while Neo gets his pants ripped off completely, revealing his pink and lacy thong. The audience gasps, completely shocked.

"It's not mine, I swear! It's...uh, my girlfriend's! Yeah!" Neo tries to restore his tarnished dignity. If he ever had any. Anakin is just shocked.

"You see! That proves I'm the Chosen One! Right, Professor!" Harry squeals, looking at someone at the back left corner of the stage.

Professor Dumbledore looks up from his conversation with two other men at a charming little table, complete with a porcelain tea set. Somehow nobody had noticed any of this, though the whole thing has been there since Neo walked onstage.

"Hm? Oh yes, whatever Harry dear." He goes back to speaking intently with his tea time companions.

"There! You see? Professor Dumbledore says I'm right, so there!" Harry proceeds to stick his tongue out at Ani and Neo, and shaking his boo-tay in a very childish manner.

Neo turns to face the boy, then suddenly notices something that so far has escaped his attention completely.

"MORPHEUS! What the hell are YOU doing here?" he shouts, having caught sight of his mentor having tea and crumpets with Dumbledore.

"Obi Wan!" Anakin says, having also caught sight of his mentor, as he munches happily on a scone at the charming little table.

"WHAT'S THE DEAL!" Neo and Ani scream simultaneously.

Morpheus and Obi Wan look at each other and sigh. Dumbledore merely sits there, a twinkle in his eye, and a smile on his lips. Harry is still skipping around, though now he is conducting the audience as they sing "Potter Is Our King."

Just then, however, Ani and Neo decide they don't really care why their mentors are there, drinking tea and eating delicious pastries with each other. At last, they have someone who can prove who really is... _The Chosen One_.

"Master, tell _Domi_-matrix Boi that _I'm_ the Chosen One!" Ani whines piteously.

"Morheus, tell Force Boi that I am the One who was Chosen!" Neo whines, equally piteously.

Obi and Morphy sigh once again.

"Can't you kids just get along?" Obi says, trying to appeal to the stubborn "boi's."

"Yeah, why can't you _both_ be Chosen Ones?" Morphy suggests.

"You'd certainly get more done that way," Dumbledore admits, still smiling with that twinkle in his eye.

Neo and Ani look at each other. "Well, okaaayy," they say. "But what about that kid over there?" Neo asks, jabbing his thumb in Harry's direction, who's still conducting. "Yeah, he wants to be a Chosen One too," Ani says.

"Dear dear, we can't have _three_ Chosen Ones, that wouldn't be right, now, would it?" Dumbledore asks rhetorically. "Don't worry, _I'll_ take care of him," and with a wave of his wand, Harry disappears. "There, happy now?"

"Oh yes!" the newly chosen Chosen Ones say as they nance over to the front of the stage and begin to teach the audience a song about sharing. The mentors smile fondly and continue with their teatime conversation, chuckling over the past antics of their students.

THE END


	2. The Charming Coffeeshop

Somewhere in a charming/foofy little teashop, Ani and Neo sit drinking coffee at a table. No one is certain as to why these two did not simply go to a coffee shop, but no one will ask because few people like to be Matrix'd and Force Chok'd. Right, so Ani and Neo are drinking coffee, and also deep in a discussion, or maybe an argument, about the best types of hairstyles to make the fangirls go wild.

"Honestly, Ani, every one knows that women like _dark_ hair," Neo says, sounding just a bit condescending.

"No no no, Neo, I'm quite sure you're ever so wrong," Ani says, sounding more condescending, "Women are really quite fond of the long, ragged, and unkempt look. It's more suggestive, if you know what I mean," he continues, then leans back in his chair to take a pull on his Hot Cuppa Joe, confident that he's winning the argument.

"Tsk tsk, Ani, really now, the quote, _ragged and unkempt look_, unquote, just makes you look dirty and uncivilized," Neo says as he sips delicately at his Latte o' Matte.

"_Actually_, Neo, it gives a man a rugged and sexy look, which just drives the fangirls wild. They can't get enough of it. Plus, it's great to run the fingers through, which you hardly do with," he gives a contemptuous sniff, "_gelled_ hair. That will just make your hands gooey."

"Actually, _Ani_, the gelled look gives a woman the impression that said gelled-haired man _knows_ he is in fact a sexeh badass, and so is confident. Women _love_ a confident man." He gives Ani a look over his cup as he takes another sip. "Perhaps maybe that would account for _your_ poor communication skills with Padme, hm?"

"Oh,_ I_ have 'poor communication' skills now?" Ani is becoming annoyed. "What about you and _Trinity_?"

"What about us? We are quite happy together. And," here he pauses for greater effect, "we have great sex." He smirks triumphantly, enjoying his Latte o' Matte.

"But, but," Ani flounders, not knowing if Neo is lying, for he has never seen the Matrix trilogy, and it is clear to him by now that the other Chosen One has indeed seen at least the newer Star Wars trilogy. "Well, fine, whatever, but I still think that the ragged and unkempt look is better for one's hair."

"And what proof do you have of that?"

"This!" Ani waves his hand, and Aragorn, Faramir, and Boromir zoom over, by the power of the Force invested in Ani. "There! You see? These three men merely have to turn towards the audience, and fangirls will faint with pleasure. And why? Because of the hair! Nobody really cares what they _look_ like, so long as they have great _hair_!" At last victorious, Ani can once again drink his coffee. Meanwhile, the rugged sexeh men from the Lord of the Rings trilogy stand uncomfortably, not sure whether they should run away yet.

"Hmm.." Neo says, as he gets up and slowly begins to walk around Gondor's Finest, inspecting them from every angle. He finally stops at Aragorn, who has neglected to bathe for the last few weeks. "Well, I must admit the other two are quite exceptional, but this one..." he pauses, as though lost in thought, "this one, honestly, do women _really_ go for the 'unbathed' look?" his voice has become scornful, the knowledge that he himself is quite clean evident for all to see.

Aragorn is not really sure what to do. He opens his mouth to ask if he can go home now, when suddenly!

"_AQUAMENTI_!" someone squeals.

Water shoots out of Aragorn's mouth, spraying everyone, especially Neo, who had been right in front of him at the time. Neo screeches like a banshee with rage, and backhand-slaps Aragorn with his leathah glove.

"You imbecile! This water will totally ruin all my leathah! How _dare_ you! Do you _know_ how much this much black leathah costs! More than your little 'kingdom,' that's for damn sure!"

"Chosen, here, let me help get the water off!" Ani says, trying to calm Neo, and also to make him put down the table.

"Oh, it's all over..I'll never be able to fight again in these ruined rags!" Neo sinks to his knees, his face in his hands, crying piteously, like a man weeping like a whiny, annoying child. "And not only is my outfit ruined, but my hair is too!" he suddenly yells, feeling his sodden hair, now profusely slimy, as the gel has unhardened. His hair has become floppy as well.

"Come now, Neo, darling, it's not that bad, we'll sue these ugly men and make it all better, there there," Ani croons softly. The table now sits on its side on the floor, a leg broken off from when Neo dropped it.

Just then, in the midst of the grief, who should show up but Harry Potter, who had ducked under a conveniently placed table when Neo spazzed out.

"It is I, Harry Potter, the true Chosen One!" he yells, his voice like a poorly tuned radio. Everyone winces at the high-pitchedness. "I have come to liberate you all from these...these fakes!" he continues, gesticulating madly at Ani and Neo, the latter still sobbing, the former still attempting to make it all better. Harry continues talking, but no one really cares, and most people leave, due to his painfully crackling voice. Aragorn, Faramir, and Boromir take this opportunity to nance away, before they can be Force Grabbed again.

"Stop! That's enough!" Ani suddenly shrieks. "Can't you see what you've done! You've made him cry with your stupid spell!" Harry is suddenly 'forced' snerk to turn around, where he is confronted by the older and sexier man. "Look!" Harry looks. "You've ruined his outfit! You wretched child, you are truly undeserving!"

"Undeserving of what?" Harry asks, and is promptly bitch-slapped for his insensitiveness.

"EVERYTHING!" and with that, Ani, like, backhands the Boy Who Lived, and ka-ra-tay Force -chops him, doing a knick-knack on his spine-o(WTF?). The blue-eyed child is floor'd. Ani laughs maniacally for a bit, then remembers Neo, who is still sobbing at his feet. As Ani looks down at the tousled, brackishly-black head, his heart does a little skippy thing. He shakes his head furiously, smacks himself a bit, runs his fingers through his lusciously rugged hair, thumps his chest, fixes his wedgie, clears his throat, and crouches down to comfort Neo.

"There there, love, I've done away with the pest, it's all better now," Ani coos, stroking the leathah meystah's back, hardly aware of what he is saying, or how it could be entirely misconstrued by innocent bystanders only just now tuning in. Ani does not notice the others, for he can only see Neo.

Neo, for his part, is slowly, ever so slowly, recovering, and, though his face is in his hands, he's not really crying anymore, but, rather, looking surreptitiously at Anakin's crotch, which is mere inches away, as the attractive Jedi is still in a crouching position. Finally, he gains some semblance of control over himself and slowly raises himself up. Ani rises with him, his hand still on his back.

"Are...are you going to be okay? Neo?" the blondish Chosen One asks tentatively.

"I-I think so," says the brunet Chosen One, trying to sound manly and sexeh, never mind that he was just sobbing over the ruination of his favourite leathah trenchcoat, the designer of which may very well be forever unknown to the rest of us lowly earth-dwellers.

Despite Neo's tragedy, his angsty bitching is nothing to that of Kurt Cobain, who, being somehow miraculously brought to life through like, a miracle of science and stuff, walks in. He's not sure how he _got_ to this obscure little tea shop, and God forbid he should actually know _why_ he's there, except that the author is currently reading his biography, _Heavier Than Heaven_, and feels no small amount of pity and love for this blue-eyed beauty of all that is angsty and woeful, and, well, beautiful. That being said, Jimi Hendrix jaunts in, as the author has read _his_ biography, _Room Full Of Mirrors_, and loves Jimi, too. Jimi's neither confused, nor particularly concerned with the psychodelic's authors whims and fancies, though no allusions will be made to drug-induced euphoria or stuff like that as a cause for his non-caringness. No, really, I swear.

Kurt finally decides that as long as he's here, he'll have some tea, and pretend to be some obscure British wanker. Jimi, toting his quirky guitar that he personally restrung for his left-handedness, sits down and starts to play the opening notes to "Voodoo Chile," then begins to murmur the words softly under his breath.

Ani and Neo turn their heads away from such sights, and concentrate on the matter at hand. That annoying Potter boi is still out cold, and they need to figure out what to do with the body, since leaving it there might scare away the tea shop's potential customers. Besides, it's an eyesore, nobody wants to look at that thing. So, with "Voodoo Chile" as their 'mood' music(which freaks both of them out to no end; not that they'll admit it or anything), they each grab an end of the body and drag it('cause it's so damn heavy) out from under the table. Anakin then uses the power of the Force to pry up the floorboards as quietly as possible. Oddly, but conveniently enough, there is but empty space below, and so they drag Harry's limp carcass over to the hole, where they promptly shove it in. They wait for a splash, or at least some indication that the kid actually lands and doesn't end up falling through some infinite abyss for all of eternity. I mean, that would suck, right?

Jimi, sensing a need for the change of 'mood' music, starts playing "All Along The Watchtower," which is apparently a Bob Dylan song, redone by Jimi to honor his hero. It is, in all affairs, a totally phunkadelic remake, but it only serves to give Neo and Ani the heebie-jeebies, because they suddenly get the impression that they are the guards on the watchtower, and, erm, Harry's going to kill them or something. Maybe. Well, anywayz, they cover up the hole real quick-like, and prepare to haul ass. Jimi hails them off with his whacked-out, totally trippy, kick-ass version of The Star-Spangled Banner that he once played at a little show called Woodstock. Kurt, looking up from his tea, decides to sing to the song, even though, with Jimi's version, you're not really supposed to. Thus, Jimi plays louder('cause he had an amp up his sleeve XD), trying to drown out the blue-eyed blond. Kurt sings louder, Jimi plays louder, and so on. Meanwhile, the Chosen Two have already hauled ass outta there, and disappear into a wrinkle in the space-time continuum. Or it could just be a glitch in the Matrix. Or the Force. Or...something, if anything at all. 8D

THE END


	3. A Wilde PartyPt Un

Somewhere in my Elsewhere in the Middle of Nowhere on the ever-revolving world of Over Yonder, right over There, Harry Potter, The Boi Who Lived(but didn't get laid), The Chosen One, Lord Voldy-poo'z

Successor, sits, diabolically. No, he's not doing anything. He's merely sitting. Diabolically. 'Cuz he's all evul and stuff.

Meanwhile, in Squaresville, Gondor's Finest are sleeping off all the caffeine they drank, Kurt Cobain is jamming/angsting it up with Jimi Hendrix over at the Café Wha? and Neo and Anakin are gamboling in Vegas. Basically, no one's partying, getting laid, getting stoned, or chuggin' booze. This is actually a good thing, since at least the latter two really are not good. But still, Harry Potter and the author have nothing better to do, so they decide that a party must be had, with only the _cool_ people invited. It doesn't actually cross the boy's mind that he may as well write himself off the guest list before he does anything else. Ah well, this isn't just going to be a party anyway, it will be the chance Harry needs to prove that he is the true Chosen One, so he must invite Ani and Neo. Since it's a special-wecial occasion, Harry will also need to learn French, because he's heard that women dig French people(and just about anyone with a cute accent who's not American), and he actually would like some action. So, he begins to write out the guest list. Then he does all that stuff that people do when they throw a hoe down. Er, have a party. After some debate between himself and the face on the back of his head, Harry decides to have the doohickey at Hogwarts, since, like, he can do that...um, among other things.

"Say..."

"What?" says Harry, annoyed at being interrupted.

"Why the fuck do you have BLUE eyes? Aren't they supposed to be _green_? Because they were in the BOOK."

"No! Shut up!" Harry seems rather...agitated.."I am not!"..yes you are..."AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!111 IT'S NOT MY FAULT, IT'S THE #$&& DIRECTOR'S FAULT!111111111"

And thus, the invites are sent out, the teachers and other such staff members(snort) are locked up in some broom closets, and people prepare their spandex suits.

BUT. Harry, being stupid, forgot all about the music stuff, as in, what the hell are people supposed to freakin' dance to! It's not like they can dance to mudbloods twangin' the rubber bands on their braces or something. This Kid Who Lived, being rather desperate this close to the day of the party, calls up some formerly dead rockers: The God of the Guitar, The Hippie Pop Rocker, and The Lovable Blond Angst-Muffin. Yes, that's right, this party will be rocked off by none other than Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon, and Kurt Cobain, due to the author's manic obsession(hah, "manic depression," snerk) with dead rockers! W00t!1

Suddenly, Harry begins a wild, erotic dance, and the song "Maniac" (a one-hit wonder) begins to play, only this time it's Barry White singing, his sexeh deep voice resounding off the walls of wheresoever Harry might be at this inconceivable space in time.

"EWHATTHEHELLISGOIN'ONINHEAH!1" Harry screeches, his voice at once like nails on a chalkboard and a deep well.

What? Oh, sorry. The author stops huffin' stuff and gets back to the story. Whatever _that_ is.

Munch munch..

MUNCHIES!1

No, seriously, the author isn't on crack, for rizzle. S/he's _actually_ just crazy like that. Peace.

Righto, Harry likes to get phonkay, so he majicks time into speeding up to the day of le party/badass showdown. He stands like a dork in the doorway to Hogwarts, greeting the guests because he was dumb and forgot to hire a freakin' doorman. Jeezus. Which reminds, him, Harry ties a string to his finger so he won't forget to take down that autographed picture of Satan hangin' over his bed. Honestly, Harry didn't need _more_ reasons to be considered Satanistic. Or Satan's Homeboi. Or something. Yeah..

The Three Formerly Dead Roxorz, as they call themselves, are standing on the piece-o'-crap stage, arguing sexily about who's playin' what instrument. Johnny's pretty chillax, but Jimi and Kurt have, ahem, "authority issues," and thus feel the need to be like, cool and stuff. 'Cause they're cool like that. Anywayz, they also don't know what music to play, at least until the author tells 'em to quit their bitchin' and just take requests. They quail at such awesome authoritah.

Some randomly adrogynous person walks up and requests "Shake Ya Ass," by Mystikal, and is immediately rebuffed. The author doesn't like that song much anyway, so it's all good. Someone else wants to hear some Mozart, but they're a dork, so whatever. Miscellaneous other people come up requesting music, but they're all turned away because their requests are like, omg, totally lame. Then a small, winged little adrogynous child floats down in a purple haze, and asks softly for "All Along The Watchtower." The Three Formerly Dead Roxorz are in such sublime awe, they immediately begin playing, Jimi on guitar, John on bass, and Kurt on de drums. Dig it, man.

By this point the party is rather well advanced, and Harry is practically clawing his panties off because the other two Chosen Ones have not yet arrived, and also because some wonky people have started to moonwalk. Which is just wrong. Unless you're like, on crack or something. Yea.

Suddenly, there is a hoo-mungus 'splosion, and everyone is thrown around, only to land in compromising and/or promiscuous and/or vaguely erotic positions.

Harry leaps up, and, with ridiculously melodramatic hand gestures, starts yelling obscene curses, because he ended up sprawled on Kurt's face. Even though many of us would probably give our left fallopian tube and/or testicle to be sprawled on Kurt Cobain's face in that way, Harry's just being, like, pissy and stuff.

So yeah, the 'splosion. It's Oscar Wilde! He immediately captivates all the dazed party guests with his witty and flamboyant personality, because he's just hot and cool like that.

However, his witticisms and flamingly-gay-and-lovable quirks will have to wait, 'cause the whole big-ass room gets enveloped in a mauve haze. Yea, that's right. MAUVE. Not _purple_. MAUVE. You know you fear it.

But you don't get to find out who has come a-knockin' in smexeh leathah boots. At least not yet. XD

BWA-HA-HA...

the term "angst-muffin" being the invention, not of the author, but of a friend of the author. Peace.


End file.
